Proposed expenses: eight truffled demi-pieds,
eight francs; two turkeys, fifteen francs; one
smoked neat's tongue, eight francs; eight
bottles of vin ordinaire at a franc and a half,
twelve francs; sixteen cups of coffee with petit
verre of cognac, eight francs; sardines, cheese,
biscuits, bread, &c., five francs; total, fifty-six
francs. Remains, therefore, a balance of twenty-
four francs for cooking and contingencies.

"You won't have half enough food," I
protested. "What's half a demi-pied for a
hungry doctor? What's a demi-bouteille?
What's the eighth part of a small turkey? What's
a thin slice of tongue? Too much on a table,
I allow, is vulgar and peasant-like; too little is
laughable, when it isn't sad. Before any one
has supped his fill, we shall be staring at empty
dishes, and sucking our thumbs. You must
have something more— a leg of mutton."

"No we mustn't," shouted Dr. Lenoir.
"We don't want a banquet, a noce, a wedding-
feast. We want a collation, a reunion, a piquenique.
There is plenty for all who will come.
You will see."

"I know how you reckon, doctor," I
retorted. " We are to sup, as we sometimes
play cards, at écarté. What one leaves, goes
into another's hand. The portions of those who
do not come, will help to fill the plates of those
who do. Henri Desjardins, for instance, cannot
come. He buried his uncle only yesterday."

"He will come; he shall. I am his medical
adviser. ' Henri,' I said, ' tell people, before
they make grimaces at your coming, to do for
their uncles what you have done for yours—
keep them out of want for ten long years.'
Treat your relations well while living, I say.
After they are dead, do as you please as to going
out or stopping at home."

We met. What matter, sir, dull passages,
awkward staircases, treats based on
principles of economy, where there are unaffected
politeness, friendly intercourse, and kindly
feeling? Besides, are a genial temperature,
brilliant lighting, and a table spread with
exquisite neatness, to go for nothing; especially
when the latter bears champagne glasses on its
snowy surface? Some conjuror of our party
had undertaken to extract champagne out of
our half bottle of ordinaire. The underwriters
of the feast were all assembled, with the sole
exception of Dr. Ledoux, who was detained
by an unavoidable engagement to assist a young
burgess into the world. I may truly say, sir,
that we would have preferred his presence to
the sixteenth share of the eatables thus left to
be divided between us.

At a respectable distance from the stove were
ranged sundry bottles of ruby wine, of venerable
antiquity, which had kindly volunteered their
aid. They requested to be allowed to warm
themselves just the least in the world. Our
president informed us that a deputation from
Champagne, preferring a cooler climate, were
awaiting our orders in the cellar— " our" cellar.
Several unknown but benevolent pear-trees had
contributed two handsome baskets of fruit.

And the question of precedence and place at
table, sir? How did we contrive to settle that?
A Cercle, sir, is round, has neither beginning
nor end, top nor bottom. We, fragments of
a circle, therefore sat round a parallelogram
exactly as if it had been a circular table. Instead
of the usual French fashion of placing a card in
the plate of each guest, numbers were substituted
for names. A comely dame handed round a
plate full of folded papers. Each drew his lot,
and took his seat accordingly.

As a whet to appetite, appeared the bill of
fare, which I give, as well as I can, in a duoglot
form:

"Menu.—Bill of Fare.

"Goodwill an Naturel, unsophisticated.—
Pieds de Truffophage aux tubercules. A lofty
way of expressing quadruped or porcine truffle-
eaters' feet, with truffles within, and potatoes
without.— Sardines potted in oil, Gaieté aux
fines épices, well seasoned with Attic salt.—
Tendres demoiselles sans crinoline, i.e. a brace
of young hen turkeys.— The best and the worst
thing in the world (a tongue), stuffed with
pistachios.— The Salad of the Season, Cordiality
ditto.— Wines, Dessert, Coffee, Liqueurs.—
General Enthusiasm."

We had enough to eat, but not an ounce too
much, seeing that a couple of cooks, a couple of
waiters, and a couple of nondescripts, had to
find their supper in our remnants. At an early
period, by unanimous vote, the demi-bouteilles
of ordinary were cleared away, almost untasted,
to regale those who had been ministering to our
comforts. At what hour we broke up, whether
at ten, or eleven, you, sir, are too well acquainted
with my habitual discretion even to inquire.
Nor is my recollection particularly precise
respecting that point. Non mi ricordo. All I
wish to add, sir, is the desire that, when we
next do sup again (on dit, that something may be
expected to happen on Twelfth Night next), you
may be there to see.

WRITTEN IN THE SAND.

"'Tis writ in sand," a current phrase has pass'd
To stigmatise some work that will not last:
And yet a phrase preceptive, which must stand
While Christendom endures, was writ in sand.

When Scribes and Pharisees to Jesus brought
The erring woman, and a judgment sought,
Eager to punish, the unthinking throng
Would, each and all, have struck to avenge the
wrong.

But to the test the Holy Teacher brought
The throng unthinking, by awaking thought;
Writ in the sand the challenge thus was thrown,
"Who's sinless, first be his to cast the stone."

Thus conscience-stricken, each withheld his hand:
O  glorious Scripture!  Memorable sand!
Tablet of heavenly mercy!  Still in thee
Let us for ever a memento see.

0, where's the Christian that can look on sand
Without remembering the Divine command?
Be it the desert vast he struggles o'er,
Or mighty margin of the sounding shore,